


Worth the wait

by Saltlordofold



Series: Dragon age: Arising [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Domestic Fluff, Dragon Age: Arising, Edgeplay, Edging, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Masturbation, Modern Thedas, OT3, Overstimulation, PWP, Playful Sex, Polyamory, Sexting, Shameless Smut, Teasing, can't resist the trouple dynamic, gendernoncomforming zevran, really mostly zevralistair exept for a little bit at the end there, this was supposed to be a ficlet why am i like this, zevralidan, zevralistair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-08
Updated: 2019-03-08
Packaged: 2019-11-13 16:28:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18035120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saltlordofold/pseuds/Saltlordofold
Summary: They had talked about doing this, of course they had. But even with all the ground laid out, Alistair had still felt a long shiver of both shock and exhilaration, when he'd gotten that first “Busy?” text, from Zevran, earlier that day.He was way past shock, now.





	Worth the wait

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a fic exchange on the Writers of Thedas Discord! Prompt was "Have you been good?" " from tumblr user 's [jchnmulany](https://jchnmulany.tumblr.com/post/166481899446/nsfw-prompt-list-1) "nsfw prompt list #1".

 

 

 

In only the first few weeks of being together, Zevran had already taught Alistair a great deal of things about sex. Granted, Zevran had probably taught a lot of people a lot of things about sex throughout his life, so it was nothing to be self-conscious about, even if Alistair was a grown-ass man, and hadn't exactly expected there would still be so much left for him to learn by that time in his existence. But there was, apparently. 

For instance, that day's lesson about sex was about how fun it could be that two people didn't have to be in the same room to begin having it.

If by “fun” one meant “absolutely torturous”, of course.

Alistair breathed in long, steadying breaths. Head thrown back against the wooden bed-frame, he looked for something of interest in the ceiling, like a crack, or a bump, or anything, really, _anything at all_ to distract him from the edge he'd just felt himself drawing dangerously close to. 

Sadly, there wasn't much up there for him to cling to. Blighted good paint job, actually. Flawless. He should compliment Zevran and Aedan on it, someday. Good colour, too. Alistair didn't appreciate it enough every day. Off-white, but not too cool. A happy, warm shade. What had they called it? “Lemon” something. Lemon cream? Lemon _sugar_! That was it.

Alistair relaxed, closing his eyes in relief. The moment had passed. He let go of the sheet he had not realized he'd balled up in his fist, cleared his throat, straightened up a bit. That... had been a close one, Maker, the closest one yet. He had to be more careful, but his instructions had been very clear: he wasn't allowed to finish, but he wasn't allowed to stop, either. 

With a hard swallow, Alistair wrapped his fingers back around the base of his cock, touch feather-like at first, cautious. He stifled the hiss that that simple brush caused him, turned it into a curse muttered under-breath, then willed himself to slowly start moving his hand again. It felt _so excruciatingly good_ to do so, and already he found himself having to force both his pace and his breathing back under tight control.

The phone buzzed, somewhere against his thigh. Alistair picked it up without stopping, and wasn't surprised to notice his fingers had started shaking as he unlocked the screen to display a brand new message from his tormentor.

“I'm at a red light,” Zevran had written, “Are you behaving?”

Alistair bit back a moan, fingers clumsy on the keyboard. They had talked about doing this, of course they had, but even with all the ground laid out, Alistair had still felt a long shiver of both shock and exhilaration, when he'd gotten that first “Busy?” text, earlier that day.

He was way past shock, now.

“I'm trying,” he typed back, meaning it, “It's so hard.”

He meant the task at hand, but Maker, did that also apply to _something else_ at hand right then. The phone buzzed again right away, without a beat. Zevran was always a fast typer.

“Really? My poor Al.”

Alistair could picture Zev's smirk as clearly if he'd been there in the car with him to see it. Pressing his lips together, he forced himself to exhale slowly, steadily. Dangerous train of thought, Zev's mouth, right then. Best to keep off of it, for the sake of this whole... exercise. Luckily another message came, supplying Alistair with a helpful distraction.

 _Oh, no,_ he soon realized, _not helpful._

_Not helpful at all._

“It's a shame I've planned on stopping down-town to get a few more groceries before coming home, then, isn't it?” Zevran wrote.

Alistair's grit teeth did nothing to smother the low, plaintive whine that tore though him. Another buzz:

“Guess you'll have to wait some more.”

Alistair bit his bottom lip, hard, bumping his head back against the bed-frame with a quiet thud. He thought about cheating, then, really gave it a good thought, because Maker, this was just plain cruel. Yes, he had promised, but how long had it been, already? Hours, it felt like. Alright, maybe not _hours_ , but long enough, surely. Knowing himself, Alistair was certain he could be done once and still be up for more once Zevran finally showed up, so what bad was there in giving himself some reprieve?

On the other hand... 

Shifting with a low groan, fingers still steadily gliding around his cock from base to tip, Alistair also thought about when Zevran would be pulling up in the driveway, and finally coming through that door. About how happy he was going to be with him that he had managed to follow his instructions.  And about how hard Alistair was going to be able to come for him, if he held on just a little bit longer… 

“Bastard,” he still typed back, because he really felt like it, right then.

And maybe, just maybe, because he hoped it would elicit some other sort of response. One of the sterner kind, perhaps.

Alistair's whole body twitched as his thumb slid over the tip of his cock, circling it slowly, spreading around the considerable wetness gathered there. He was over being ashamed of how he sometimes wanted to be handled, but the hot blush had still taken his face and chest, he could feel it. This was a different kind of mortification, though, than the one he'd grown used to: one deliberately sought out. Toyed with. Gifted. Peering at the screen, he saw that Zev' had not read the message yet. He was probably driving, or getting out of the car, or simply ignoring him. Hanging so desperately on a reaction without any guarantee of when he would be getting one did nothing but enhance the thrill of the whole situation, the feeling of being at the other one's mercy, subject to their every whim. Alistair pictured Zevran closing the car-door, greeting the shop clerk, smiling at a cashier, all the time knowing full well what Alistair was doing, what Zevran was doing _to_ him. He wondered if he was frowning in that pensive way of his, while going through the aisles. Pushing a strand of hair behind his ear. 

Thinking up ways to deal with him once he got home.

Alistair's breathing was getting less steady, the up-and down of his hand faster, firmer. His whole belly was clenched tight again, his chest flushed as deep red as it could get, his heart a deafening thud in his ears. He gripped the edge of the bed-frame behind his head, braced himself there. A steady pump, a steadier climb. So close. Closer still. Not wanting to slow down. 

But doing it anyway, because he'd promised.

Alistair exhaled a breath so shaky, it felt closer to a sob. Instead of letting go of himself, he pushed the torment further still, dragging his thumb over the slit again, making himself buck. It was almost painful, at that point, sensitive skin so overwhelmed that the lightest brush felt ten-times its weight. It was all but a bargain, at every second: accidentally setting himself off, right then, would have been a question of just one wrong move. Or _right_ move, really, because Maker, how good it would feel, to just push at the right place, drag at the right angle, let himself and this unbearable tension finally end... Alistair wet his lips, swallowed hard. Zev' would be so cross. What would he have him do, in reparation? Knowing him, something _wicked_. Alistair moaned, smearing the new clear drop beading from him along the white-hot skin of the tip's underside. He wanted that, too, didn't he? Whatever it was, if Zev' was the one giving it, he wanted it. But between reward and punishment, he could only pick one, and the maddening push and pull of his mind between the two roads was precisely the point of it all, he easily guessed. 

The phone blinked alive again. Alistair let his hand fumble blindly to get it, guided by vibration only. Once he had it, he had to blink a few times to chase the blur from his vision, in order to read the message displayed on-screen. His cock throbbed distractingly in his hand in those few seconds of neglect.

The message wasn't a reprimanding response about him being bad-mouthed. It was just three simple words:

“Tease your ass.”

“Fucking shit, Zev',” Alistair whimpered.

He let go of himself, and barely in time at that. He turned a helpless gaze at the ceiling again, but it was still smooth, and completely useless. Chest heaving, Alistair squeezed his eyes shut, scrambling for a distracting thought. Uh, the outside. Zevran. Zevran's hands around the wheel of his car, _perfect fingers wrapped around the black material, tight enough to make it creak and_ -no, not good! Not good at all. Something else, something silly, something like, uh, groceries. Right, Zev' was getting groceries-no, not Zev'. Anyone else. Aedan. No, not him either! Some random stranger. Right. Some random stranger was getting groceries. Lettuce. Squash. Bread. Some chickpeas. Okay. 

Okay. Crisis averted.

Alistair opened his eyes and let out a long, sharp sigh. He was sweating, he realized, to no surprise whatsoever. Slowly, he let go of the bed-frame he'd been inadvertently hanging on to for dear life, hard enough that his knuckles were white. Maker, but this was a whole work-out. Wiping a hand across his face, he gave himself just a moment to settle his breathing, then leaned to open the right drawer on the bed-side table, where the lube was. His hands were shaking more than a little, by that point, but amazingly he managed not to drop the tube. Was he even ready for this? Clearly not... but he had no choice, and that thought alone was enough to make him groan with want. Putting the lube down, he recovered his phone, which he had not even realized he had discarded like a hot piece of coal, just earlier.

“Won't be able to type,” he warned Zev', while he still could.

Because he had a feeling he'd be making a serious mess out of himself, and very soon. While he waited, he didn't dare even _looking_ at his cock. He didn't need any visual confirmation of what a disaster was going on down there, at the moment: the _angry pulsating_ was feedback enough.

Lucky for him, this time, Zevran didn't make him wait too long for an answer.

“You won't need to,” his response read, “I'm heading home.”

Alistair could have cried. Before he could put down the phone in relief, though, Zev's follow-up popped up:

“Be ready for me.”

“Oh, fuck, yes,” Alistair weakly groaned.

The store was close to home, so even though he already knew it was going to feel like forever, he didn't actually have that much time. With trembling hands, he put the phone down, picked the lube up, popped the cap. He poured a too-generous amount on his fingers, spilled maybe half of it, shivered at the cool touch of it as it dripped on his chest, cursed again. Maker, he wanted it so bad. Too bad, probably, because just the thought of a touch felt _dangerously_ good. Sitting up more comfortably against the bed-frame, Alistair spread his numb legs best he could, then carefully let both his hands move between them. Tentatively, he brushed his hole with one finger, and oh, no, yeah, he was going to need to let go of his cock _right then_ because Maker, he wasn't going to last even one more second if he didn't. Raising his fist, he unashamedly pressed his mouth against it, knowing he was going to need all the help he could get to keep in check for what came next. Breathing in deep, he circled himself, realized his thighs were already all but twitching with tension at every slow pass of his slick finger. Fuck. Fuck, this was too hard. But to think of Zevran's face when he would find him, the smile on his lips, his words of endearment... Alistair closed his eyes, adding some pressure to the slow work of his fingers. He pictured Zev's hand on his back, across his chest. He saw it holding his hair, stroking it, then moving on to cup his cheek, thumb dragging across his mouth, soothing his shaking lips. He saw his eyes, dangerous and golden, heard his whisper in his ear, felt his touch on him, _in him_ , finally, _finally_...

Before he knew it Alistair was face down on the bed and hard at work. Two fingers in, face buried in the pillow to muffle the moans, he spread himself out, thinking of Zevran's fingers replacing his, Zevran's tongue, Zevran's cock. His own hung heavy under him, desperately twitching in neglect. Biting down harder on his fist, Alistair worked a third finger in, smothered the strangled moan that doing so tore from him against the back of his hand, soldiered on. He was leaking so much, a small pool of pre-come had started to gather on the sheets under his belly. His whole body felt raw, shivering with too much sensation, his shoulders tight, every muscle in his back painfully tense. How long could he go on like this? Maker, not much longer. Weakly, Alistair managed to work his hand away from his face to recover his phone. There were bite-marks on the back of it, a darker red against his flushed skin.

Alistair wasn't usually one to abbreviate, or forgo punctuation, but right then he couldn't have typed properly even if he had wanted to. Also, it was probably a bit unsanitary to be putting lube all over the screen like that, but fuck it: he was past that. He was past a lot of things, at that point. Way, way past.

“zev where r u” he typed best he could, feeling desperate, and certain he looked it, “i'm so fcking close”

He pressed send, and as soon as he did buried his face back in the pillow with another long whine. He didn't even dare move his hips any-more, fully convinced that the friction of the sheets against his cock would be enough to set him off. So he just let his fingers do all the work, fucking in and out of him, working him nice and loose, but also bringing him closer and closer by the minute to long-awaited, so-very-tempting release. Release which he had to deny himself over, and over, and over again, in that seemingly infinite wait, each time stilling his hand at the very last moment, pausing while the feeling slowly withdrew, then starting to move again. And again. At some point his breathing had started coming out of his throat in no more than a series of long mangled, pleading hisses, but he couldn't have told when to save his life. Tears had gathered hat the corners of his eyes, of frustration, but also simply from all the _sensation_ threatening to drown him at any second. He let them run and barely noticed them, thinking only of Zevran, of his voice, of his touch. It was all he had left to hang on to, right then, and didn't hold back from clutching at it, harder each time he felt like his control was going to break, which was _often_.

And then a car, in the distance. Not so distant, actually. Dogs barking. _His_ dogs. Car doors, opening and closing. Footsteps in the driveway, heeled boots, walking briskly.

This time, the sob of overwhelmed relief Alistair let out was very real. Slowly, he let himself down on his side, unsurprised to find out he was shaking from head to toe. He wanted to do his best to settle his body in what he hoped was an enviable display, but only managed to limply flop on his belly. Whatever. That would do. After what Zev' had put him through, he dared him to complain about the state he'd find him in.

“About time,” was the only thing he managed to slur out, weakly turning his head to the bedroom door once it finally opened.

He didn't even turn on his back. To be honest he wasn't sure his limbs would still work with him, even if he tried. So he just laid there, a sweaty, shivering, very naked, very panting mess.

Zevran didn't seem to mind. He stood on the edge of the door, for a second, shoes already kicked off, but keys still in hand. Just staring. Alistair was so starved for his touch that even the feeling of his eyes gliding over his body was enough to make his breath hiss.

Judging by the way he smiled, Zevran liked what he saw.

“So,” the elf finally asked, by way of greeting, “Have you been good?”

Alistair doubted whatever he had mumbled back was in any way intelligible, and it surely didn't help that he himself was not so clear on what he'd tried to say.

“Yes,” maybe. “Yes, _you utter asshole,_ ” more likely.

“You sure _look_ good,” Zevran went on, not picking up on his effort.

Shrugging off his jacket, he slipped into the bathroom, leaving the door open for Alistair to see and hear the faucet run as he gave his hands a quick wash. Once done, Zevran leaned towards the mirror, staring in. He took off the rings on his right hand, pushed on his painted eyelashes with the tip of his nail. He did up his hair in a simple ponytail, looked around for something to tie it with, taking his time. Making him wait. 

Of course, Zevran would draw this out some more. What else did Alistair expect?

Maker, though, he was _so_ beautiful. Breath still stuck across his throat, body still raw to the barest breeze, Alistair could only stare as Zevran ran his hands trough his long hair, pushed a few rebel strands behind his ear, settled the rest in a position he found suitable. Once he was happy with it, Zevran gave his reflection in the mirror a satisfied nod, before walking back in the room, and to the bed.

“Let me see,” he softly said, sitting down next to Alistair on the mattress.

Those golden eyes of his were like embers, and it took no time at all for Alistair to feel set ablaze. His whole body twitched wildly when Zevran's hand pressed on the small of his back. Just a touch, but how it burned through him, after all that waiting... Zevran made a soothing sound at his reaction, raising his other hand to brush the hair stuck to Alistair's forehead. Circling his eye, tracing the line of his temple, of his jaw. Alistair greedily leaned in the touch, eyes fluttering shut, lips parting around a moan. So good. It felt so good to finally have him here, speaking to him, _touching_ him...

“Zev,” Alistair called, but his voice soon devolved into a strangled gasp, as Zevran firmly moved his first hand further down, and without a beat, dug his fingers in, shamelessly checking on Alistair's good work.

“So nice and ready,” he whispered, while Alistair, all sound choked from him, bucked and shook powerlessly against the mattress, “Good job, _amore._ ”

In, out. Alistair was still slick with lube, so Zevran had no trouble fitting a finger inside him, then another. Bending down, the elf placed a kiss on his burning temple, shushing his moans. Maker, after all he'd done to himself, _this_ was already more than Alistair could handle.

“Fucking please, Zev',” he begged.

His voice came out so raw, it made Zevran laugh, a rumbling sound, warm against his ear.

“Alright, alright,” he chuckled, leaning back, “Can't a man enjoy the view?”

He slipped his fingers out of him, and instantly Alistair groaned in protest, resenting the empty feeling left behind. He craved for something there again, for more, for everything. Lucky for him, Zevran had clearly decided they had both waited long enough, because he climbed on the bed, and instantly reached for more lube. He didn't even bother to take off his blouse, his earrings, his necklaces. One handed, he simply unzipped his pants, and lowered them just enough for what he needed. The sound alone was enough to make Alistair whimper.

“I'm not going to lie, Al',” Zevran said, voice sounding tight, all of the sudden, “You've gotten me pretty riled up.”

How good it felt to hear his name in that mouth. Almost as good as feeling the presence of his body behind his, knees snug between his parted legs. With the help of Zevran's firm hand on his hip, Alistair pushed himself up on all fours. Ready, oh yes, he absolutely was. Looking over his shoulder, drinking the sight in, Alistair did his best to muster up the cockiest smile he could manage.

“Is that so?” he teased, “You should see the other g- _fuck!_ ”

His smugness hadn't lasted him long. Zevran, clearly past niceties, had pressed the tip of his cock to his entrance, and was wasting no time pushing in. Riled up indeed: Alistair's blood roared as he realized that Zevran was just as hard as he himself felt.

Perfect. Perfect. Alistair wanted nothing else, right then, than for Zevran to be unceremonious about it. And as often, it was as if the elf had been reading his mind, because he proceeded to give Alistair exactly what he wanted, exactly how he wanted it: a rough fucking, firm and steady, hard enough that there was nothing he could do except brace against the creaking bed frame and take it.

Zevran's hand in his short hair, a firm hold. Tight, but not enough to really hurt, just keeping him in place, positioned exactly as Zev' wanted him. Perfect. Just perfect. Alistair was being loud, he knew it, and couldn't care less about it. Zevran thrusts in him were all that mattered, all that he needed, all that he could focus on. So good, Maker, he felt so good, after all that teasing, all that waiting, hitting him just right at every push, deeper and deeper every time, making him unravel, making his belly tighten and coil, his toes curl, his nails dig into the wood of the bed-frame, pleasure building up, up, overwhelming, _overwhelming_.

“Zev,” Alistair sobbed, once.

He didn't come as much as he collapsed, or at least it felt like it. His grasp on the bed-frame slipped when his knees gave out, so his strained shout ended up drowned by the pillow, which was maybe for the best, because it was _loud_. Zev' fucked him through it, nice and steady, whispering encouragements, and Alistair felt himself pour so much that he thought he might actually faint. He was held back, though, by the cool touch of Zevran’s many necklaces on his back, and the sound of their owner's throaty moan, right by his ear. Fingers buried in his hair, bracing himself there, Zevran finished himself with a long growl and a few more sharp thrusts, and only when he stilled, did Alistair realize he'd grabbed his hand and linked it with his in a crushing hold against the pillow.

Riled up _indeed_.

Both of them were too out of breath to say anything right away, which was just fine by Alistair, because he wasn't even sure he could spell his own name, at the moment, much less form a coherent sentence. More than floating, he felt pleasantly stilled, weighted down on the bed by Zevran's body laying on top of his. After a while, wet, breathless kisses started fluttering on his shoulders, the nape of his neck, the high of his cheek-bone. Smile audible in his voice, right by his ear, Zevran finally asked:

“Was it worth the wait?”

“Grmbl,” Alistair slurred back, most eloquently.

He did his best to gather himself, but his mind was sailing miles away, carried off on a sea of stunned bliss. Shifting slowly, he managed to turn on one side. Kicking his pants the rest of the way off, Zevran followed with, and soon enough they were face to face, Alistair cradled against Zevran's chest, fingers tracing the sharp line of his waist.

“I love you,” Alistair just croaked out.

Head in his hand, busy gently pushing wet strands of hair from his sticky forehead, Zevran laughed.

“Me too, beautiful,” he whispered, before leaning in to kiss him.

Alistair was probably still too concussed to make a good job of it, but Maker, did that kiss feel good anyway. Tongue as sweet as his touch had been rough, just earlier, Zevran led him through it, soft and deliberate. Alistair tasted him eagerly, let himself drown in the fresh touch of him, in the spices of his smell. He had wanted to say something else, but he couldn't remember what that was any-more, and it didn't matter. They stayed like this for a good while, greeting each other properly, at last, kissing and kissing until they'd had their fill, and Alistair felt like he might actually start dozing off. Humming to warn Zevran he was going to lean away, he planted one last kiss at the corner of that skilled mouth, before breaking it up.

“I'm getting really sticky,” he complained.

He thought he'd make him smile again by daring to whine after what they'd just been through, but instead Zevran just nodded, pushing his hair back again. Maker, that face. Alistair would gladly have spent the rest of his life just staring at it, memorizing every line, every wrinkle, and the perfect way those three tattooed lines framed the sharp whole of it like the painting it deserved to be.

“You didn't answer,” Zevran reminded him, and Alistair rolled his eyes, feeling a giddy smile spread on his lips.

“Do I need to?” he chuckled, and Zevran frowned, taking on that very fake serious look Alistair was one hundred percent sure he also used on the kids at his school.

“Of course you do,” Zevran said, “Communication is everything. I take it seriously.”

“You do, don't you?” Alistair chuckled again, cupping the elf's face with one hand.

His tone was less teasing when he spoke again, finger lightly brushing the corner of Zev's bottom lip.

“It was very worth it. Please let's do this again.”

Satisfied, Zevran leaned back. Without him needing to ask, he helped Alistair straighten up, gently laughing at his clumsy movement. Seeing that smile again was more than enough to console Alistair from the realization of how obviously precarious his whole stance was going to be, not to mention his walk. Luckily, he had a hand to hold to help him along.

“For that, you'd need to have more free days,” Zev' teased, leading the way to the shower, and Alistair pretended to wince.

“Sure,” he said, catching a glimpse of his own face in the mirror, and almost startling himself with how thoroughly _fucked_ he looked, “I just need to figure out how to get that past the Commander. “Sorry, Sir, I'm afraid I can't come in Tuesday, I need to get me another serious pounding.””

Just thinking of saying something like that to Duncan made Alistair shrivel inside, but he managed to make Zevran laugh again, and that was all that mattered.

A shower was just what he needed to get rid of the mess he was coated in, but it clearly did nothing to wipe the bliss from his face - or off of Zevran's, for all that mattered – because the moment he got home, a single glance was enough for Aedan to clock them both instantly. 

“Well, well, well,” the man teased, throwing his keys in the bowl, “You two seem like you've had some fun. Hello, old boy.” 

Nestled against each other in the couch with their limbs intertwined, Alistair and Zevran exchanged an innocent look, while Aedan bent down to greet his dog. And then Mimo, of course, never one to let herself be left out.

“Whatever could you mean?” Zevran mused, taking one more sip of his herbal tea, and squinting his eyes at Alistair over the edge of his cup.

He put the cup down on the coffee table before letting Aedan kiss him hello. He was still in his uniform, and Alistair didn't hold back from tugging playfully at his silver name-tag, when his turn came to be properly greeted.

“So tell me, Warden-Constable,” Aedan said over his shoulder, once that most important ritual was completed, and he could make his way to the kitchen, “How did you spend your free day, while the rest of us slaved away to keep the bloody city safe?”

“In bed,” Alistair said, the very picture of nonchalance, making Zevran smirk at the page of the book he'd just gone back to.

“Oh, that I can tell,” Aedan assured.

“Do you want us to tell you about it?” Zevran offered, and Aedan's grin had undoubtedly more to do with that than with the contents of the fridge he'd just opened.

“Maker, yes,” he said, “Just let me get something down, first. Work was a pounding, today, haven't gotten a chance for a break.”

“Ha,” Alistair snorted, swiping to the next document on his tablet, “Pounding.”

Smile only widening, Aedan moved a few things in and out of the fridge, rustling around as he assembled himself some dinner.

“Zev',” he called over his shoulder, “Did you forget the eggs, love? That's unlike you.”

With a shrug, Zevran flipped his page.

“Must have been distracted,” he simply said, and this time Alistair was the one biting the inside of his cheek.

“You two are being much too cute,” Aedan warned, with zero credibility.

It went without saying that he enjoyed their recount of the evening's events. He enjoyed it _quite a lot._

“Blast it,” Aedan pretended to complain, which was a difficult thing to pull off with one's pants still half-down one's legs, “Where am I, when this sort of thing happens?”

“”Slaving away to keep the bloody city safe”, I believe,” Alistair mused, disentangling himself from the pile of them just enough to reach for the box of tissues on the bedside table, and handing him one.

“Very cheeky, _Sir._ ”

“You're cheeky, _Senior Warden._ ”

“Glad you noticed. I _do_ work out.”

“We'll set up a group message, next time,” Zevran promised, settling himself between them, “Now lights off, please. Some of us have long days ahead.”

“Alright, alright,” Aedan sighed.

While he settled down too, Alistair landed one last kiss on the blonde head next to his, before following instructions, and switching the bedside lamp off.

“But it better be worth my wait,” Aedan's voice chimed in the darkness, and Alistair and Zevran both let out the same chuckle.

They weren't too worried about that.

 

 

 


End file.
